


Words Unspoken Are Seldom Heard

by StarTravel



Series: Defiance Through Tenderness [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Accidental Flirting, Angst and Feels, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Depression, Julian misreading signals possibly deliberately in some cases, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Julian Bashir, Some Humor, The Bashir's A+ Parenting, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 01:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16651666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarTravel/pseuds/StarTravel
Summary: Or five times no one said 'I love you' to Julian Bashir.





	Words Unspoken Are Seldom Heard

**Author's Note:**

> This is not related to the other fic I wrote in any real way, I'm just putting all of my shorter fics into one collection.
> 
> The two poets referenced are both British and wrote extensively about World War1.

 Jules sits on the ground in front of his parents, kicking his feet up and down so that they clang against the metal floor of the ship. They’ve been on the ship forever and Jules wants to get wherever they’re going right now! He’s never been off of earth even once and he wants to see other aliens and make new friends. People might be nicer in space. Jules hugs Kukalaka, trying and failing to look past his parents’ legs to see outside. There are so many lights and stars and he and Kukalaka haven’t seen any of them. Jules holds Kukalaka up over his head, because  then maybe at least she’ll be able to see them all.

He’s careful not to dig his fingers into the new threading on the side of his friend. His mama glances down at him with wet eyes, the way his look when he falls or someone calls him names or daddy yells at him for not talking as much as other kids. Jules swallows and wraps his free arm around her leg tightly. Suddenly the trip doesn’t seem like much fun. “Mama, where are we going?”

   “Adigeon Prime, dear. There are doctors there that can help you get better,” Mama tells him with a pained smile, blinking a few times as she brings one hand down to rest on top of his head. Jules twists around as much as he can to look up at his father, fidgeting with his hands and waving them in the air nervously. He’s never liked doctors, always poking and prodding at him and looking at him like he’s as broken as Kukalaka was that time her arm got stuck in the door and nearly tore right off. He hadn’t even been able to fix it, mama wrapping her hands over his as they move the needles over Kukalaka’s side.

 That time Mama did it all by herself. But Kukalaka hadn’t needed a doctor and neither does Jules.

 “But I’m not sick,” Jules whines in a high-pitched voice, waving his arms back and forth in the air so hard that Kukalaka falls over onto his knees. Julian makes a whining sound as he rights her so she’s between his arms again, hugging her tightly. Neither of them are sick. Jules looks up to find his daddy staring at him with scrunched eyebrows that look like angry caterpillars and mouth pressed down. That’s how daddy always looks at him nowadays, like he’s been bad even though Julian never does anything but play and ask questions and color. Jules misses when he used to smile lots.

 “That doesn’t mean you can’t be better,” Daddy snaps in a voice that’s too loud, Jules slapping his hands over his ears. That makes daddy’s eyebrows go even lower, shaking his head as he looks away from Jules in a way that makes his stomach hurt. When he looks up at his mama, she’s looking out the other window, tears sliding down her cheeks as they finally start to dock.

 Six months later, Jules boards another ship, this time with his father beaming down at him, eyebrows looking nothing like caterpillar’s anymore. But there’s a coldness to his gaze now, a calculating element that hadn’t been there before their trip that makes Jules shiver a little. His mother’s eyes are still always wet, her frame heavy with something that had not been there before. His father tells him once, tousling his hair just a touch too roughly, that everything is different now. Jules nods slowly, arms wrapped tightly around Kukalaka. Yes, everything does seem to be. He just doesn’t know if it’s any better.

* * *

Julian watches Miles out of the corner of his eye, fiddling with the long red straw in his glass of springwine as he considers their night. He saw his rival-crush at medical school and found out that she at best doesn’t remember him and that at worst she never knew who he was at all. It should be a blow to his confidence and Julian supposes it is, a bit, but it’s not what his mind is stuck on. No, that would be what Miles said to him earlier. Not the part about hating him - that had been a bit of a surprise, but it’s a _was_ if nothing else - but the ‘and now’ he’d never truly finished.

 And now what? Now he tolerates Julian because Keiko is gone? Now he admires Julian’s dedication to his work? Now they’re friends? The possibilities are swirling through his mind as the alcohol slides down his throat, three glasses erasing what few boundaries Julian even has. “And now?”

 “And now what, Julian?” Miles asks as he raises an eyebrow at him, taking a careful sip of his own beer, the tawny golden brown shade matching his curls. He’s not half-drunk like Julian, Miles’ tolerance higher than his own, because apparently his father could make it so he can hear all the whispers about him from across the room but didn’t think to raise his alcohol tolerance. Julian takes another swig of his springwine, glass now empty. He bangs it against the table slightly and waves his other hand through the air lazily, staunchly ignoring the way Miles mouths ‘no’ at Quark next to him. Julian knows full well when he’s had enough.    

 “Before, you said you used to hate me,” Julian explains as he spreads his hands out in the air, fingers only a few inches away from Miles’ face. He’s half tempted to lean in and poke the other man in the cheeks just to get that guilty look out of his eyes, and maybe that’s a sign he’s had enough after all. Quark brings him another springwine anyway and Julian accepts it with a too wide smile, holding the glass up triumphantly and completely evading Miles’ hands when he tries to snatch it from him. Drunk or not, he _did_ still have the reflexes of a Vulcan.    

 “Well, _hate_ might have been a strong word,” Miles mumbles as he looks down at his own drink, frown tight as he pushes the glass around on the table in a strange looping pattern. The air around them almost feels tense. Julian has no idea why, until Miles looks up at him with a wounded expression, reminding Julian a bit of a kicked puppy. That wouldn’t do at all.    

 “It wasn’t, and we both know it,” Julian says firmly and with only a hint of a slur as he leans in and presses his hand against Miles’ shoulder, his thumb pressing up against the side of his neck. His skin is warm and a bit softer than Julian would’ve expected. Miles starts to flush, heat running up from his neck and to his cheeks, matching the heat that’s spread across Julian’s own body. Strange, Miles doesn’t seem nearly as drunk as Julian feels, his body feeling clumsy and too long for the stool at Quarks.  “Besides, I’m not worried about how you felt before you got to know me, I’m focused on the ‘and now’.”

 Miles raises an eyebrow and slides his hand up to rest on his elbow, fingers digging in a little, though he doesn’t pull Julian’s arm away from where it still rests on his shoulder. Instead he gives him a measured look, letting out a small huff that manages to sound fond and irritated all in one breath. Julian’s smile widens a bit at that, free and wrapping more tightly around his glass, thumb running up and down the side of the stem. The feeling is smooth and cool beneath his fingertips, a nice contrast to his ever rising body heat. “Julian?”

 “How do you feel about me _now_?” Julian murmurs into his ear as he leans forward, gaze suddenly growing more serious as he squeezes down on Miles’ shoulder more tightly. Miles glances down first at that hand with a hint of a scowl, before turning his gaze to the one that’s still wrapped around his wine glass so tightly Julian thinks it might shatter into hundreds of pieces in a moment. He’s never been good at judging his own strength. Apparently tonight he’s giving himself too much credit, because Miles simply starts to unpeel his fingers one by one from the edge of his glass. This time when Quarks takes it away there’s no replacement.

 “What kind of a question is that?” Miles finally mutters once the glass is gone, a hint of trepidation in his voice as he gives Julian a look of bemusement. Their arms are still practically lying on top of each other in the air, angle crooked and Julian imagines slightly painful for Miles. Miles rolls his eyes, letting out a dry noise that could be a laugh or a scoff.  “We’re friends.”

 “And friends?” Julian calls far too loudly for the mere inches between him and Miles, leaning in so he can actually smell Miles’ beer-coated breath. Miles raises an eyebrow as he slowly tightens his grip on Julian’s elbow. Julian shifts awkwardly in his grasp, his free hand flailing in the air now that he has nothing to hold onto. They really did _nothing_ for him on Adigeon Prime. Julian leans in, smile and gaze both softening as he takes in the resigned expression in Miles’ gaze as he slowly starts to pull Julian to his feet. Julian stands up more neatly than he probably should be able to, given the amount of springwine he’s had since they got here. Julian leans in so he’s too close to Miles’ face again, voice practically a whisper. “Fine, I’ll say it first if you’re going to be so reticent. I like you, Miles. In fact, I even love you.”

 “Would you stop carrying on like that? Look, we get on,” Miles snaps without any real heat as he shifts around so Julian’s hand is finally dislodged from his shoulder so it lies by his side. Julian makes a wounded noise deep in the back of his throat, but lets Miles drag him toward the door by the elbow, grunting something about drunken Englishmen under his breath.

  When Julian wakes up with a pounding headache and an unfortunately clear memory of the night before, he can’t quite find it in him to be annoyed with Miles for not saying it back. It does sting when another year goes by without him saying it, though.

* * *

“I just don’t understand why he won’t make a move,” Jadzia tells him in a voice that has just a hint of irritation, stirring her raktajino in angry swirls so a few drops splash out onto the table. Julian watches them fall with a raised eyebrow, because while he’s often been in this exact mood, once over Jadzia herself and now typically over Garak or sometimes Miles, he’s never seen Jadzia like this. She’s always gone after what she wants with a sureness Julian can’t help but be a little jealous of, even as he admires it. Worf is the only exception. Jadzia lets out an pained sigh as she finally stops stirring the coffee to clink her spoon along the edge of her mug instead. “Trust me, Julian, I haven’t been subtle.”

 “Given that even I’ve picked up on your crush on Worf, no I can’t say that you have,” Julian assures her with a bit of a laugh, glancing up at her over his own drink with a rueful grin. He’s not the most observant, especially when it comes to matters of the heart, but not even he can miss the way Jadzia looks at Worf like he’s a sun to her solar system. Once that might have made him jealous, but now it only causes sympathy to well in his chest for his friend. Julian smiles at her, reaching a hand out to brush against the edge of Jadzia’s own. “But since I love you, I’m not the right person to ask.”

 Jadzia’s eyes widen a bit at his words, mouth opening and closing once before she picks up her raktajino with a rigid arm, one eyebrow going up as she stares him down. Julian swallows a spoonful of pudding hurriedly, not quite sure where he’s gone wrong this time. His social graces have always been lacking, but usually he can at least make an educated guess about what he’s done or said. This time he has nothing, unless Jadzia genuinely wants to hear his advice, which is that he’s not sure Worf is worth the effort. He doesn’t even like Risa. “Julian.”

 “What?” Julian asks as Jadzia frowns at him tightly, gaze contrite and miffed all at the same time. Julian opens his mouth, because he has no idea why she’d feel either just because Julian loves her and -oh. Oh. He really can be an idiot sometimes. Julian swallows his pudding as quickly as possible, holding his hands up palm front as his words practically trip over one another. “Oh, I mean - no. No. Not that I couldn’t have, in a different life but - no. I’m long past that. I meant as a friend. I love you as a friend.”

 “Julian, I get it,” Jadzia assures with a hint of a laugh, eyes dancing with mirth as she reaches her spoon out to poke him gently in the arm. Julian lets out a relieved sigh that they’ve gotten past that awkward moment so quickly. His frankly embarrassing crush on Jadzia lingered far longer than most of his infatuations, melding with admiration for her and his desire to be her friend. Jadzia is brilliant, but also direct and honest and quick-witted, wise in a way Julian knows he’ll never be. The fact that she’s in his life is nothing short of a miracle. Jadzia gives him one of her dazzling smiles as she leans in and lowers her voice conspiratorially. “I consider you a close friend too. Now back to Worf.”

 Julian laughs and nods at all the right times, chimes in every so often with smiles so practiced that only Garak sees through them. He reminds himself that he can be too sensitive, gives moments more importance than they truly deserve. Still, Julian can’t help noticing that Jadzia never says it.   

* * *

Garak saunters into the sickbay of the roundabout with a slight tilt of his head and a disapproving noise, though there’s a caution in his gaze as he approaches where Julian has curled himself into the corner of one of the silver-grey benches, trying to blot out the memories of the past four weeks through sheer will alone. So far it hasn’t been effective, Julian’s memory flicking from his time in internment camp 371 to the last time he was in solitary confinement, back before he was Julian at all. Julian gives Garak a weak smile that’s more of a pained grimace, not having the energy to do much more than watch the other man sit on the edge of the bench without even asking. His skin is the same color as the metal. Julian tries to focus on that and not all the feelings his presence brings to the surface.  

 “My dear doctor, you’re making the same face as when I tried to get you to read Preloc’s collected works,” Garak murmurs into his ear, voice deceptively soft as he flicks his gaze over Julian’s frame. Julian raises an eyebrow, letting out a low exhale as he meets Garak’s gaze with a tired one of his own. There was a time when Garak whispering in his ear like this made Julian’s heart race. Now it barely flickers. “What has you so tense?”

 “I did spend the last week in solitary confinement, Garak. You can hardly hold it against me if I’m not the best company right now,” Julian answers him coolly, closing his eyes and taking a few carefully measured breaths. He drums his right hand against his knee, the silence and darkness at once haunting and welcoming. Julian doesn’t like being alone, but it’s familiar in a way that makes him feel bitterly safe.

 “You haven’t been company for the past few months,” Garak says in a chiding tone, raising an eye ridge as he leans in so he’s almost looming over Julian. Julian meets his gaze readily, too tired for whatever games Garak has in mind. Besides, he’s not wrong. There was a time when Julian wouldn’t have missed a lunch with Garak for the world. Now he’s come up with careful excuses and petty lies to avoid each and every invitation, no matter how much it makes Julian’s stomach flutter in strange patterns when Garak keeps seeking him out week after week. That’s the past.“I suspect that wasn’t all the changeling?”

 “I don’t have time for this, Garak,” Julian tells him in a clipped voice, pulling in on himself a bit more than before, wrapping his arms around his legs so he’s practically huddled against the corner of the bench. All Julian wants is to be - well, not alone. Just not with Garak and his knowing eyes and prying questions that Julian can never answer. Their friendship once thrived on secrecy, on them pushing at each other and their beliefs and wants until Julian felt invigorated and irritated and utterly enchanted all at once.

 Then Julian fell in love with him and everything slowly fell apart, until they arrived at where they were now, Garak’s most vulnerable secret out in the open and Julian’s more buried than ever. The walls between them might be too high to overcome now.  

 “On the contrary doctor, I believe you’ll find we have nothing but time,” Garak reminds him in a tone that could almost be described as warm, gesturing around the empty sickbay with a shark-like smile. They wouldn’t arrive back at DS9 for days, and Worf and Martok had closed themselves off once they were healed. Julian doesn’t even know where their Romulan friend is at this point and he’s too exhausted to come up with a good enough excuse to leave. Garak will just follow him anyway, going by the way he’s leaning in now, hands mere inches away from Julian’s painfully chapped lips. “From what I recall, you decided Chief O’Brien was a better lunch companion shortly after you shot me in that ridiculous game of yours.”

 “Maybe next time you shouldn’t put me in a situation where I have to shoot you,” Julian snaps without any heat behind it, too exhausted to truly fight with the other man. Julian does and doesn’t understand how they got here, where every word is a stabbing without affection. This  is a man he stayed up watching all night, whose breaths he’s counted like Kira does prayers, who Julian risked his life and reputation for. He would do it again without a second thought, not because he’s a doctor but because he loves Garak.

 Garak would not do the same for him. No one on this ship would because of _him_ , rather than because that’s what they’re supposed to do. Julian takes a certain comfort in that. Some things do not change, no matter how much the rest of his life does.

 “Maybe next time you won’t be afraid of learning something ugly about yourself,” Garak suggests instead, grin somehow growing even wider as he crowds Julian further into the corner of the bench. Trapped. Julian takes a few shuddering breaths and closes his eyes as tightly as possible, visions flooding his mind as the space around him feels colder and smaller than ever. When he finally opens them again, Garak has moved back to the other side of the bench, smile stiffer and gaze at once contrite and understanding in a way that made Julian swallow a little. Garak’s somehow right even when he’s wrong, understanding that Julian feels trapped but not _why_ , is missing the pieces for what makes Julian fear cages so much even as he clings to the one he’s created for himself. Julian’s let Garak far too close for his own good. “Next time -”

 “My dear Mr. Garak, you haven’t taught me _anything_ ,” Julian cuts Garak off with a dry laugh, one that borders on the erratic as he stretches his legs out and completely ignores the way Garak’s eyes bore into him. Sweet, deluded Garak. Julian has spent over a decade worrying of the sins he’s capable of, the compassion and fears he lacked. Shooting Garak that day hadn’t changed how Julian sees himself. It simply confirms that his worst suspicions have always been right and makes Garak unsafe for him and him unsafe for Garak. But those are puzzle pieces he can’t give Garak. Not yet, not ever. So Julian gives him an empty smile instead, stretching out with an air of purposefully affected boredom. “Besides, don’t you have more pressing concerns than what kind of man I turn out to be?”

 “Yes, I suppose I do,” Garak mutters after a few seconds, smile completely gone now as he starts to rise from his end of the bench. His gaze pierces into Julian’s own for a moment, lips pursed as though he’s about to ask one of the thousands of questions Julian knows rest there. But then Garak turns around without so much as a second glance, something almost defeated in the set of his shoulders.

 There are no more lunch invitations after that.

* * *

Julian slides into his bunk, thankful that his roommate - his _unasked_ for and _unchosen_ roommate - is nowhere to be seen. He spends more time alone since the revelation of his enhancements come out, more time lost in his projects and research. No one bothers him about it, beyond a few worried requests for him to take a break or reminding him gently - far too gently for Quark, really - that the holosuites are still open.  Once they’re on the Defiant even that stops, the war taking up far too much focus for anyone to be worried about Julian’s slow transformation from idealist to robot.

 Anyone that is, except apparently Garak, who snipes and pulls at him at every chance, snidely comparing him to Vulcans and computers while shooting him smirks that border on cruel. Julian feels terrified that those barbs have made him feel more than anything has since they first set foot on The Defiant weeks ago. A numbness has set in over him, a callousness that shakes him to his core. Julian has his share of flaws, but this detachment and borderline insolence is new and frightens him.

 He feels at once nothing like and far too much like Julian Bashir, so he buries himself in Owens and Sassoon in the hopes that eventually some well of sadness or compassion, hell, even anger will swell up in him. Anything but this damning numbness that takes over a bit more of his soul with each passing day. He’s halfway through _Christ and The Soldier_ when his unwanted roommate saunters through the door, ripping the book from his hands and replacing it with _Alice in Wonderland._ Julian relishes in the rush of fondness that overcomes him, even as he tries to give his roommate a frigid glare over the top of the padd. All he gets is a patient smile in return.

 Julian wonders when this man started being so much more gentle with Julian than Julian can bear to be with himself.  

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to do a +1 but I couldn't think of one that quite worked.
> 
> Also, if you ever have ideas for prompts/etc you'd want to see written, I'm pretty open to them, so please feel free to leave them in the comments.


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